


Deep End of the Pool

by whistlejacket



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whistlejacket/pseuds/whistlejacket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-war, Severus Snape catches the attention of a former student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep End of the Pool

I’d been swimming in her glances all night, the deep end of the pool and no one there but us. If I’d been wrong – and I am never wrong these days; what ultimate lesson needed learning has been learnt – I would’ve apologized with a nod of my head before a summarily discreet disappearance.

 

But as I said, I am never wrong these days. Although, I was discreet, and so was she, and we did disappear. If her friends worried, I do not know nor care. I only know that she, rising star in the Ministry, a woman on a sixty-hour work week to hell, took the time, when she was nearly undressed and already in my bed, to shut off her mobile. The screen went dark, her wand joined it on the bedside table, and not another word was said for some hours.

 

My wand remained where it always is: in a drawer of that same bedside table. I no longer require it, and even in the utter blackness of my small bedroom, I could tell she was surprised when I was lifted her hands over her head and bound them to a bedpost without even a whispered word. I wanted to impress. As it happens, I also want to tie up witches. I am usually impressive. I rarely get to tie up witches.

 

Back arched, breasts full, soft – she was without question the most tender witch I have ever had. Nothing about her was hard or vicious; everything about her was open, warm, and _there_. If you have lived a life like mine, you are rarely in one place. You talk to this person about one thing, your mind working three or nine other threads. If you have slept with the sort of women I have, you know that while they are fucking you, they are thinking of what they might get from this...a story, money, or maybe they are thinking of the man they’d really rather be fucking.

 

Not this witch. Not this witch who must be living the lives of four, all at the speed of a rogue Snitch. A woman who, if one trusts the _Prophet_ (and I wouldn’t, if I were you), is at three events most evenings, who has a hand in every aspect of our government, whose signature is required on nearly every official document that comes along, a woman with the power of Minister if not the title – yet. A woman whose glance I had not snagged in many, many years. And this night, I had; and she was in bed, and she was _in my bed_.

 

I could feel her lips say my name against my skin, but not a syllable aloud. I could hover my fingers over her skin, untouching but yet drawing her body to me like a magnet.

 

I’m not a fool, though I am old. I took advantage of the night, or let her think she was taking advantage of me, knowing that when morning came, this encounter would end.

 

It had to end, of course. It was there in both our faces when we left the party, a tacit acknowledgement. Whatever else may have been acknowledged, I refused to consider. Old teacher? Ally? There were no debts, no respects to be paid... Although, perhaps, months from now, I will ruefully acknowledge, into my whisky, that there was something of that about the night. But for now, no. For now, I say and I believe that she was there because she wanted me, and I wanted her, and in the morning, nothing would be changed.

 

And so it was. The sun not quite shining – it saves Spinner’s End for last, the thing it must do that it puts off as long as it must – she woke me with kisses all over my throat, my shoulders. I brought her to me and kissed her deeply and rolled over. Before she slipped out of the room, I heard her mobile chirping to life. The door shut, and I didn’t even hear her steps on the stairs.

 

There was no more sleep for me. The curtains opened with a stab of my fingers in the stale air, and my eyes foolishly fell to the table. As if a witch of her caliber would ever forget her wand.

 

I don’t know why, in that moment, I chose to open the drawer. There is something about that ebony wand that causes my chest to ache whenever I see it. But I did it, and reached inside, and drew out instead of a piece of paper that hadn’t been there before.

 

_‘til we meet again. ~H_

 

I am impressed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for reading. It has been quite some time since I've presented another work in the HP fandom. It's nice to return "home," as it were.


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